


“So we’re close enough you can tell me you killed someone, but not that you’re bi?”

by elainebarrish



Category: Last Tango In Halifax
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Getting Together, idek, set after the s2 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 14:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6614254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elainebarrish/pseuds/elainebarrish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gillian is jittery and makes terrible decisions and all of that is endearing, somehow, and Caroline doesn’t know if she can deal with what that means, doesn’t know if she’s prepared to see what happens the next time they get drunk together (she tries to comfort herself with the thought that Gillian’s straight, but she’s doubted that since they met the first time)."</p>
            </blockquote>





	“So we’re close enough you can tell me you killed someone, but not that you’re bi?”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [helenecixous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenecixous/gifts).



> this is defo 4 betsy shout out 2 u. I've been meaning 2 write for this ship since I first caught up with the show but this is the first time I've finished smth 4 them

Caroline doesn’t know why it is that she likes Gillian, or even if she does, but she’s been noticing her more and more recently, something that she thinks is mostly just frustration, or she hopes is that. Her and Kate haven’t made up, and ever since that night when she thought that maybe something could have happened but then didn’t, when she ended up hearing about this horrible, terrible thing that had happened to Gillian, she’s been more and more distracted and it’s been less about Kate than she thinks it should be. The stupidest part of this whole thing, she thinks as she pours herself a glass of wine, is that she doesn’t even blame Gillian for what happened, she sees that she was in an untenable situation, that she was just trying to survive.

That night’s led to discreet glances and nods when the others aren’t looking, and it feels like Caroline’s in on a secret, and it should be terrifying and something that she doesn’t know how to deal with but she doesn’t feel that pressure at all, more just a warm feeling whenever they share a smile across the room. Gillian is jittery and makes terrible decisions and all of that is endearing, somehow, and Caroline doesn’t know if she can deal with what that means, doesn’t know if she’s prepared to see what happens the next time they get drunk together (she tries to comfort herself with the thought that Gillian’s straight, but she’s doubted that since they met the first time). Gillian smiles at her, in a completely usual context, the others all talking in the background, and she smiles back before she even knows what she's doing, and she didn't even mean to. Caroline doesn't want Gillian to know and she doesn't think she does, but it remains a fear and she scolds herself for ever even thinking about her in a context that isn't this. She regrets ever thinking about her in a way that wasn't sisterly. She tries to tell herself that it would be wrong and that she's ridiculous, that she's just lonely and grasping onto anyone vaguely attractive that she sees on a regular basis.

She keeps expecting to see Gillian less, that surely the two of them don’t need to spend much time together at all, but then there’s the wedding, the two of them sat off to the side, and neither of them get up to dance, they just stay sat together, Gillian’s hand warm on her arm. She’s a pleasant drinking companion, if there's one thing that Gillian's good at it’s that, and Caroline's surprised to find that if anything she's glad that she's sat here with her, and not Kate, even as she aims sad looks in her direction. If she's honest she just regrets that she ever thought that her and Kate would work. Kate leaves and Robbie goes home with his new ridiculous girlfriend and the two of them are the last to head out, wobbling slightly and vaguely miserable, not looking forward to the hangovers they’ll experience tomorrow.

Somehow they end up sharing a taxi, and Caroline’s trying not to lean on her in the backseat, and she really isn’t intending it when she offers for Gillian to come back to hers with her, that it’s cheaper and easier and that she’ll drive her home tomorrow. She’s not thinking about what will happen when they get back as Gillian accepts, smiling and drowsy and happy that she doesn’t have to fork out for the journey home, not really meaning it when she offers to split the fare, not surprised when Caroline turns her down. Caroline has the whole twenty minute trip to panic about what Gillian thinks her intentions are, even as the reasonable part of her tells her that Gillian’s expecting to sleep on the sofa and it’s just her guilty conscience talking.

They fall through the door and collapse onto the sofa, and Gillian looks as though she’s ready to fall asleep right there, where she leans haphazardly on the arm, shoes still hanging off of her heels and hair thrown across her face. Eventually she takes a deep breath and shuffles, getting more comfortable, looking more dignified, and Caroline closes her eyes and pretends like she wasn’t looking.

“You don’t happen to have any wine hidden in this huge house, do you?” She slurs, though only slightly, and Caroline opens her eyes to meet her surprisingly steady gaze.

“Don’t you think we’ve already had enough?” She tries, but she’s smiling and already moving, sitting up and running a hand through her hair.

“Worried I’ll confess to another murder?” She asks, but her voice is slightly nervous, almost imperceptible in the face of her relaxed expression.

“I thought we agreed to never talk about that again?” Caroline smiles too and stands, stretching and slipping her heels off, and Gillian tries not to look, tries to remember that it’s been years since she last slept with a woman, that her dad doesn’t know about that, and that her new step-sister would be an even stupider idea than the rest of them.

Caroline comes back with a bottle of red that GIllian can tell was at least fourteen quid just by the fancy ass label, and two wine glasses. She tries not to think about how good she looks in that dress. Caroline pours the wine, and doesn’t notice Gillian looking, and Gillian accepts the glass and tries not to take too large a mouthful; she knows that her complete inability to make good decisions is hindered even further when there’s alcohol involved (even if it also feels like it’s slightly too late for that).

“So you decided against Robbie, then?” Caroline asks eventually, after they’ve both drank more of their wine than they probably meant to.

“Yeah, I figured you were maybe right about it not being a good idea. I hope him and Cheryl are very happy together.”

“I wonder how long that’ll last,” Caroline says dryly, smirking into her wine.

“They’ve already lasted longer than I was expecting, who knows maybe he’ll settle down and end his bachelor days.”

“Is he grown up enough for that?”

“I don’t think so, but he might make an attempt.” Gillian leaned back, wine glass carefully held aloft. “What about Kate? Given up on women already?”

“Not “women” just that particular one. I’m too old to be thinking about raising a child.”

“Probably too old to be a lesbian too,” Gillian muttered, but she was smiling and Caroline shook her head, shoving her lightly.

“Watch yourself, don’t make me brand you homophobic.”

“I’ll have you know I have plenty of gay friends.”

“Sounds like something a homophobe would say.” She’s smiling, though, and Gillian is too, that kind of relieved smile that means she’s glad she didn’t go too far, looking down at her glass and giving Caroline another chance to look without worrying about her noticing.

“I’m many things, like an occasional alcoholic and expert in terrible decision-making, but that’s something I’ve never been accused of.”

“Judging by my mother’s generation people get more homophobic as they get older, there’s always time.” Caroline shifts on the sofa, leaning all of the way back, her now empty wine glass deposited on the coffee table. She turns her head to look at the other woman’s profile, and she’s vaguely disappointed that her eyes are in shadow.

“I think it’s just that the acceptable terminology changes,” Gillian says, in a burst of wisdom, and then in a burst of courage continues. “Like I suppose if I’d been growing up now I probably would have used bisexual to identify with, but it’s kind of late now.”

Caroline turns her whole body towards her in surprise, trying not to smile. “You, Gillian Greenwood, have been keeping from me that you’ve slept with women before?”

“It’s not really a secret, it just didn’t come up.” She mutters, hiding her face by looking into her empty glass, blushing slightly and hoping that her hair hides it, trying not to think about the fact that now Caroline knows that’s another barrier removed. “It’s not really relevant anymore, it’s been quite a long time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know I guess I didn’t think we were close enough. And it’s not like we can just casually chat about it; Dad and Raff don’t know.”

“So we’re close enough you can tell me you killed someone, but not that you’re bi?” She paused and tried not to think about it, about how this means that technically she could sleep with Gillian, how a whole window of possibilities have just opened up to her, even though she knows that it’s still not likely that Gillian is in any way interested.

“Well, er, they're kind of very different things?”

“That’s true, but I would have said that one is a lot less serious than the other, by which I mean that I would have preferred to know that you’re bi.”

“Well, this is just the way round that you happened to get them.” Gillian leaned forward, elbows on her knees, then refilled her wine glass, filling Caroline’s too when prompted. She handed Caroline back her glass and then the two of them went back to sitting in silence.

“I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she muttered, still incredulous, and Gillian laughed.

“You you’ve said. And it’s not like I’m still practising, or whatever.”

“Last girlfriend break your heart?” she teased.

“Actually, it’s more just that the opportunity doesn’t come along all that often,” she shrugged, still looking marginally embarrassed.

“I should have known, you wear too much plaid to be completely straight.”

“You’re just upset because I’m butcher than you.” Gillian grinned and sat up, facing Caroline, wine sloshing dangerously in her glass.

“Well considering half the time I see you you’ve got your head in your tractor’s engine I hardly think that that was up for debate.” Caroline’s voice was purposefully snooty, but she was smiling.

“I suppose you have the whole powerful lesbian thing going on, with the suits and the heels that the cashmere jumpers that probably cost more than the sheep they come from.”

“Powerful lesbian?” she asked skeptically, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, like the whole strutting around like you own the place thing. Because you’re not a lipstick lesbian, not even when you’re wearing lipstick.”

“Why are we trying to categorise me?” she asked, laughing.

“Need to find out who’s going to find you to be their type, now that you’re single and everything.”

“Well, what’s your type?” she questioned, surprising herself with her own daring, smile remaining, but slightly fixed, like she’s scared of revealing her interest.

“Never you mind,” Gillian laughs, and blushes, and tries not to think how much she enjoys a good suit on a woman. “What’s yours?”

“If you won’t answer then why should I? And anyway, I don’t really have one.” She thought for a moment about how different Gillian and Kate were, and then resisted the urge to shake her head to clear it, attempting to maintain Gillian’s sketchy eye contact.

“You just like all women?” she asked, disbelieving, smiling.

“I have a healthy appreciation for all kinds of women, yes.”

“So you don’t care about whether they’re butch or femme or whatever?”

“Not really,” she squirmed a little, uncomfortable with the topic as it still wasn’t something she was used to being able to talk about openly.

“Personally I prefer it when they lean more towards femme than I do.” Gillian said after a long pause, and when Caroline raises her eyebrow she ducks her head and looks intently into her half-empty wine glass.

“I’m rather keen on a checkered shirt, but also women usually look good in most things they wear.” She tries not to panic, not to think about how technically she fit into what Gillian had described, comforts herself with the fact that if she’s being honest most women tend to be more femme than Gillian.

“I hope you’re fussy about personality instead because otherwise your type is everyone.”

“I’m not sure you can say anything about that, considering your track record,” she smirked.

Gillian’s mouth opened in surprised. “Bitch!” she laughed. “I’m used to comments like that from everyone else, but not you.”

“I’m learning. You did just accuse me of fancying everyone.”

“I suppose that was a little hypocritical of me,” she admits, still grinning.

“So you like femmes,” she paused. “Any kind of hair colour preference? Height?” Caroline was still smirking as she raised her wine glass to her lips.

“What? No, no nothing like that.” Gillian paused, and thought about what a terrible idea this was, but then her eyes met Caroline’s and she took a deep breath, and continued. “I’m actually, uh, pretty fond of the whole powerful thing. Skirt suits and confidence, you know?”

Caroline’s brain raced, and her smirk widened into something more like a victorious grin. “Oh really?” she leaned forwards, angling herself towards Gillian. “You know as much as I said I didn’t have a type I have recently discovered that watching women fix things is something that I enjoy.” They both look at each other for a long moment, bodies angled towards each other, and it’s Gillian that leans in first, jolting slightly like she wasn’t sure whether she meant to.

When Gillian wakes up it’s in Caroline’s bed, and it takes her a long terrifying moment to remember what happened, but she’s still surprised that she isn’t naked; that’s the way she usually wakes up in other people’s beds. She’s wearing a loose tshirt that she remembers Caroline handing her while Gillian had been attempting to pull down her own zipper, eventually giving up and presenting her back to Caroline, who had pulled it down with surprising ease for someone who’d inhaled so much wine. She looked to her right to be presented with Caroline laying face down, practically suffocating herself with her pillow, and the light that streams through the curtains hurts her head more than she was expecting. Caroline shifts like Gillian waking up somehow woke her up, and she rolls to the side so that she’s no longer in danger of suffocation, and Gillian’s glad because she imagines that making that call would be extremely hard to explain.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.” Caroline practically whispers, her voice gravelly like she was screaming for hours yesterday, which she probably was while trying to get everything arranged perfectly, or at least while trying to convince Lawrence to get out of bed.

“I’m experiencing something similar,” Gillian manages, holding a hand up to shelter her eyes from the sunlight spilling into the room, smiling at the way that Caroline squints at her with one eye, the other half of her face still mostly pressed into her pillow.

Gillian tries not to remember last night, but one thing keeps coming back to her. She remembers in explicit detail Caroline turning her back to her and pulling down her own zipper, the material clinging to her hips as she slides it down, and Gillian had wanted to get out of this ridiculously comfortable bed and place kisses down her back where the skin was slowly revealed to her. But then Caroline’s pulling her own tshirt on, facing her again with her hair mussed and her makeup slightly smudged from a long day, soft and not perfect how she always thought but perfect in a different way, and as she gets into bed next to her, sighing as she settles, Gillian tries not to reach out, tries not to draw her close, and she mostly succeeds, rolling onto her side to look at her as she runs a hand through her hair and turns away. 

That particular memory comes after them finally staggering upstairs, after them having spent what felt like a ridiculously long time leaning close but not close enough on the sofa, after polishing off that bottle of wine even though they hadn't needed any more alcohol in their systems. Somehow, through all of that, Gillian had not been brave enough to take the first step, to cover the distance between them, and even with what was practically her admitting her attraction to Caroline, Caroline hadn’t been brave enough to do it either.

It’s just lead to them laying in bed with their brains bouncing around their skulls, still mostly dressed, smiling at each other despite the glare of daylight. Gillian can't stand it, this will they won't they limbo they're caught in, and Caroline looks so soft and welcoming with her fringe sticking up and black smudged around her eyes. She's definitely not still drunk, not if the hangover she's experiencing is anything to judge by, and she's surprisingly glad nothing happened last night. She wouldn't want this just passed over as alcohol induced, wouldn't want either of them to be able to make excuses the next day, or in a week, or when they have a minor panic about what a terrible idea this is in a month’s time.

“Why are you looking at me?” Caroline asks, smiling even though she’d tried to sound as disapproving as possible.

“Me? Looking? Never.” Gillian laughs as she purposefully aims her gaze on the ceiling, peeking back to see Caroline smiling, catching her rolling her eyes.

“Hmm.” Disbelief is clear in her response, but also an unwillingness to argue, and she turns onto her side towards her, so they're face to face across the pillows.

“No need to sound so disbelieving,” Gillian replies, smile hovering around her lips, shifting towards her almost against her will. They both try not to think about how easy it would be to lean forwards and kiss, about how anything seems possible in this huge bed in this huge house on this clear day.

“I wasn't arguing,” she counters, still smiling, not really succeeding in ignoring the way that she itched to move forward.

“That “hmm” sounded very much like an argument to me.”

“Everything sounds like an argument to you.”

Gillian pretended to look offended, still smiling, eyes a stunning grey/blue/green in the sun. “Maybe if you weren't so argumentative that wouldn’t be the case.”

“I’m argumentative? That's rich, coming from you.” Caroline's barely thinking as she reaches forwards, hand coming to rest on the dip of Gillian's waist, feeling the way that her stomach muscles trembled as she pulled Gillian towards her, glad of the way that she curves into her easily, smiling. There's no reason for her to feel out of breath, she thinks as her pulse rockets and Gillian continues the rest of the way forwards, smiling into a kiss she'd been waiting for all night. Caroline tastes like last night’s wine and somehow Gillian doesn't mind as she curls even closer, her hand cupping her neck just under her hair, her smile still hovering around her mouth. She kisses lightly, softly, like she's got all the time in the world and it feels like they do, trading lazy kisses in the mid-morning sun.


End file.
